The holy month of Ramadhan has finally arrived. God draws closer to us. Devils are chained. Fistfights find no mention along the streets. Modesty and humility are the talk of the day. The fragrance of dates and basil seeds fills the air with freshness. Prayers cleanse our sins. Quranic recitation brings peace to our homes. And we bow before the Lord.
The chirping of birds after Suhoor and the divine taste of food during Iftaar - both feel otherworldly. As if our earth has flipped upside down, breaking the monotony of our fixed lives and revealing something entirely different. The aura of this month can't be defined, only felt. Not explained, only experienced and lived - well enough to forget about every worldly construct.
Yet, as we move through this solemn month, something feels amiss in Kashmir. In our fit of desperation to uphold faith, we often fail to move beyond our limited understanding of things. People who fast are indeed blessed. But those who don't, are they cursed? Do they deserve our scorn? Too often, they become the butt of our jokes, whether serious or light-hearted.
Kashmir is a painful emblem of countless tragedies. Some are hit hard by the silent walls of hospitals; others are reeling under the weight of personal loss. The pain that flows from helpless circumstances far outweighs our rolling eyeballs, passive mockery, and unsolicited advice wrapped in a false coat of good intentions. It doesn't work that way.
Stress has always been placed on thinking before speaking; that's why we have two ears and one mouth. Yet, we seem to have murdered our one ear and grown another invisible mouth beside the real one. Jokes apart, the holy month should teach us to be kind to humans from diverse backgrounds, to respect others' autonomy and decisions, and to remain silent when we don't know the other side of the story.
Nothing here makes any sense if we fail to see life's different dimensions. Take for instance, a woman working in a hospital – a doctor, or a nurse. She is exhausted coming back home from the hospital after being there all day long, attending to two terminally ill patients. She has lost her identity, let alone the track of the day. She doesn't sleep, nor does she rest after noon. Witnessing the complications of diseases and fragile, quivering patients, she's burned out, yet unfazed. Wandering here one moment and there the next. Always there, checking on them every second.
Is it appropriate to lecture her about fasting when she respects it but can't think clearly right now? It's unkind and prideful to do so.
Let's think. Let's embrace the non-negotiable: empathy. Let it not fade away. Let not desperation replace common sense. God is there, watching our hearts, our actions, and our intentions. Fasting is meant to purify our behaviour. Let it not be the reason to corrupt it.
May God bless us all!
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